


You Deserve Peace

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: “Your smile is not as bright as it used to be.”Sefikura: Sephiroth's death scene.





	

               It was the first time he had successfully managed the Omnislash. He remembered, in the hazy way he recalled most of his time at Shinra, watching Zack attempt to put it together. He hadn’t been able to manage it, couldn’t get the speed, his angles all off. Cloud had attempted it a handful of times, but found it clunky, unwieldly, more difficult than it was worth. If anything, he struggled more with it than Zack had.

               But this was do or die, kill or be killed, and every other attack he had attempted proved fruitless. Sephiroth stood in front of him, a parody of the man he had once known, looking immaculate. The smug smirk that seemed glued to his face since Nibelheim seemed to grow with each of Cloud’s attempts at attacking. He was playing with the blond and they both knew it. Sephiroth took no initiative, refused to go on the offensive. Each strike Cloud attempted was parried easily, guiding his sword away without so much as knocking it from his hand, though he knew Sephiroth was more than capable of disarming him. Perhaps they had simply fought too many times, all of Cloud’s tricks now familiar, easy to read and easier to block. But in those fights, Cloud had had support, had others with him to pull Sephiroth’s attention in a half dozen ways, making him slower, forcing him to leave openings.

               Cloud didn’t know what he had been thinking. Of course, of _course_ he couldn’t take Sephiroth one on one, man to man. The General had been made to fight, had years upon years of experience with a blade, and despite the slight edge Zack’s muscle memories had given him, one year was simply not enough time to bridge the gap. He was outmatched before he had begun, and now he was left worn down, tiring and slowing with each blow and block.

               It was desperation that made Cloud attempt Omnislash in the first place. He knew it was hopeless, knew it wouldn’t work—if he couldn’t make it happen in practice, how could he manage under this kind of pressure?  But he had no choice, it was the only move he had that Sephiroth had yet to see.

               Years later, he would give all the credit to Gaia. He knew himself too well, refused to believe that he had spontaneously mastered the impossible. The Planet must have given him that last push, allowed him to achieve the proper speed, each strike fitting perfectly into place.

               He wasn’t quite sure who was more shocked as the first blow hit home: him or Sephiroth. Cloud nearly faltered, almost missed a crucial beat in his own surprise. He only barely managed to follow through, despite his awe at the sudden miracle. And somehow, it happened again and again, impossible hits all landing exactly as they needed.

               Cloud watched as Sephiroth’s body slammed into what served as ground in this black void, flopping like a rag doll. He landed what seemed to be years afterward, right at Sephiroth’s side.

               There was little Cloud remembered clearly of his time at Shinra. What was clear were the impressions left behind. Zack felt like the sun warming bare skin just after an icy breeze passed, like coming home after a day out in the ice and snow of Mt. Nibel. He was safety, trust, the brother Cloud had never had, the iron support that kept a bridge from collapsing. He was the smell of sugar on the air, the warmth of a kitchen fire, the feeling of an embrace. Cloud couldn’t describe many times when they were together, couldn’t say what they talked about, the places they visited, the experiences they had shared. But he knew Zack at his core, what the man had been to him, what he would always mean.

               Cloud remembered Sephiroth twofold. First, there was the distance, the cold passing breeze that preceded Zack’s warmth. He was the gap of a canyon between two cliffs. He was the glint of sunlight off gold, off steel. He was trumpets blaring, regal and glorious. He was the beauty of a statue with its inanimate mystery, the fascination of art in spite of its quiet, permanently kept secrets. He was the very tip of Mt. Nibel: cold and unknowable and unreachable.

               But there was a second, deeper impression. He was shy, quiet, hesitant speech. He was shaking fingers reaching out that flinched away at the last second, afraid to touch. He was the first flower to bloom in the spring, a warm bath after a hard day that sapped the pain from worn muscles, the faint sweetness that made bitter medicine bearable. He was smell of baking bread: fond and familiar. He was the feeling of homecoming.

               Cloud had struggled to reconcile the two, fought with the memories of watching Sephiroth on stage from his spot in the crowd, the memories of sleeping by his side. He knew Sephiroth had been his commanding officer, but he had been so much more. Yet how could that be, when Sephiroth mocked him, used him, seemed to strive not only to stab him in the gut but to twist the blade? Cloud had long since decided that that second impression had been a holdover from Zack. It made much more sense, after all. Zack had known him personally, Cloud knew they had been friends—it wasn’t such a jump that they had been more than that. It was certainly more reasonable than thinking _he_ had been the one at Sephiroth’s side.

               Yet when Cloud landed beside him, it was instinctual to kneel down at his side, for his hands to flutter uselessly over so many gaping wounds, as if all he wanted to do was cure them but didn’t know how. Tears pricked at his eyes, welled up, spilled over. His hands shook when he reached down and took one of Sephiroth’s between his palms, clutching it desperately as his breath began to hitch.

               He had done everything right. He had done what had to be done, what he had no choice to do, what was _right_ to do. So how, how did he feel like he had cut out his own heart instead?

               As he watched, waiting for the light to fade from those eyes, praying it wouldn’t and desperately fearing when it would, he saw Sephiroth’s eyes clear. The fanatical glint, the impossible ego, the cold callousness seeped away, replaced by recognition, by warmth, by love.

               “Cloud,” Sephiroth said with all the fondness in the world. It unraveled a knot in Cloud’s chest that he hadn’t known was there. It warmed him to the bones. It made him realize that that second impression had been his, all his.

               “Sephiroth,” Cloud whispered.

               Sephiroth raised a faltering, trembling hand, his fingers brushing Cloud’s cheek, accidentally streaking it red. Cloud held the hand in place, suddenly desperate for the contact. Sephiroth’s lips twitched up into a smile, and Cloud answered with his own sad, bitter version. It shook at the edges, trembled in time as he began to sob.

               “Your smile isn’t as bright as it used to be,” Sephiroth uttered, stroking his thumb over Cloud’s cheek. The blond’s eyes squeezed shut.

               “I can’t lose you,” Cloud breathed, looking back at Sephiroth. “Not now. Not again. Not after I finally found you.”

               Cloud pulled his hands away, began fumbling with  materia, trying to slot a Cure into his bracer and failing, Sephiroth closed his hands over the blond’s, stilling him, pulling his eyes back. He shook his head slowly and smiled.

               “It’s my time,” Sephiroth said. “Thank you for finding me, for freeing me from her. I couldn’t ask for more than to die myself, by your side.”

               “Sephiroth, no,” Cloud insisted. “No, there’s still time, we just—”

               “Cloud,” he interrupted. The blond went still, though the lines of his body were trembling with fear. “Cloud,” he repeated, fonder, a smile blooming on his face. Sephiroth reached up, moving his hand from Cloud’s face to the back of his neck, pulling him down for one last kiss.

               Sephiroth sighed happily, their foreheads resting together.

               “As sweet as I remembered,” he said, eyes closed happily, that smile still on his lips. Cloud struggled to stop crying, failed miserably, knew his tears were dripping down onto Sephiroth’s face, though the man didn’t seem to care.

               “Cloud,” Sephiroth said, with more of a wheeze this time, struggling to get the words out. “I love you.”

               “I love you too, Sephiroth,” Cloud whispered.

               He didn’t notice the way Sephiroth began to still. He didn’t notice that his fingers had started to grow slack, not until his hand fell away.

               “Seph?” Cloud breathed, throat tight in fear. “Sephiroth?”

               He pulled away just barely to look at the man. His heart stopped.

               “Sephiroth!” he yelled, shaking the man’s shoulders to no avail.

               “Sephiroth,” he said again, a tiny, broken thing. He curled over the man, sobbing, keening. He had never felt so ruined.

               Gaia brought them both back to the present, out of the void. AVALANCHE started as they reappeared, but stiffened as they realized what they were seeing. It made no sense. They looked between each other, utterly lost.

               Cloud couldn’t be bothered to care. His hands fisted in Sephiroth’s coat, a shattered wail all that he could bring himself to do.

               It took almost half an hour to console him. Tifa, despite her hatred for Sephiroth, was the first to move. She moved silently to the blond’s side and wrapped her arms around him, gently pulling him from Sephiroth’s chest. Cloud could do little but cling to her and sob. Nanaki came next, settling at Cloud’s side, one heavy paw placed on Cloud’s knee. The two remained with him as the others watched, unsure, hesitant, unable to find a way to help.

               When he finally quieted, Tifa pulled away to smooth his hair from his face, to plant a small kiss on his forehead. Cloud nodded to them both, watched as they pulled away, to give him a last moment to himself.

               Cloud bent over Sephiroth and whispered, “I love you. I’ll always love you. You’re free now, you can rest. You deserve peace.”

               He kissed the man’s lips one last time before pulling away. He stood, crossed  to the others without a word, and led the group from the Crater.

               But he would always, always remember that in the end, Sephiroth had died smiling.


End file.
